


Death/ (The Void in Your Bones)

by demiksmith



Series: Dead Things [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Revenge, death of a fireteam, the Taken King prelude, typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:58:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4540662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demiksmith/pseuds/demiksmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three-person teams, the backbone of Guardian tactics. You go down into the dark, but not alone. You aren't supposed to come back alone, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death/ (The Void in Your Bones)

Pounding feet on hard stone, his Light bobbing to the left. Helmet too tight, too dark, but is it? Or is it the World's Grave ( _not yours_ )?

 

" _Left, Guardian_." His voice is smooth, even, but you hear the strain. " _Left!_ "

 

You don't have the breath to curse as you slam into the wall in your desperate attempt to make the turn, his Light shuddering in sympathy at the impact. Your shield reboots, and regains its charge, but you barely notice, straining to see.

 

You can hear them, deep down, like the blood rushing in your ears, your own pounding heart setting their tempo.

 

You're a dead thing, so you shouldn't be afraid, not you, a Warlock, a Voidwalker, a Sunsinger. You who dance even more intimately with death than your brother Titans and sister Hunters.

 

But maybe its because you know death so well that you push, flee,  _fight_ , to reach the moon's surface.

 

Anything,  _anything_ , but being dragged back to the dark, the deep. Let the Traveler drain you dry, erase it all, before the wizards get their claws in you.

 

" _Bridge ahead is out_." His voice is terse, but when he offers no further comment or instruction, you continue your dead sprint, your panting just loud enough to muffle the screaming thralls.

 

The Multi-tool is light in your hands, but you've been running for hours ( _days?)_ , and you're starting to tire.

 

(Knowing death so well means you know just how far a body can go before it breaks, be it exo, or Awoken, or human.)

 

Your fire-team is dead, actually  _dead_ , ghosts crushed and drained like too-ripe fruit. The Titan, Marian, left in bloodless pieces, her exo-body broken and torn. Amita, the Hunter, strung up like a carcass to be drained by her own cloak, human skin paling close to Awoken blue.

 

Her lips were the same shade as yours, by the time you escaped.

 

You only managed because you are a thanatonaut, and you aren't exactly glad, not after watching your friends, your  _sisters_ die.

 

" _Guardian, the jump-?"_  His voice is nagging, as though you'd run yourself off the edge now, when you're so close. You don't reply, gathering the void to you as you ready for the leap.

 

 

The heat of the sun escapes you right now, but the cold embrace of the void, that's eternal.

 

 

You stumble on the landing, but you don't mind, seeing that you don't need to rely on his Light as much.

 

"Send a transmission." You taste blood. Swallow. Keep talking, running. "Keep trying."

 

" _Too far down."_ His voice is soft, gentle, and you're snarling without realizing.

 

"Cut the Light. This is important." He does as you say, but you hear the clicks and scrapes that signal his irritation. 

 

Let him be irritated, let him be angry, so long as your brethren at the Tower know what's coming.

 

You're running, pushing, even though you don't think you'll make it. That's fine. So long as there is warning.

 

 

" _Arwen-?"_ His voice is whisper-soft, and he  _does not_ use your name. You hear hope in his voice, and you ignore it. " _There's a fire-team ahead."_

 

You don't disbelieve him, but you know death. You know how it clings, how it is reluctant to let you go. You're dead, with your beating heart, running blood, but death does not like losing its things. Hallucinations, visions, both happen with frightening regularity.

 

Sometimes, if you look into the void for too long, you wonder if you ever truly woke from your first death.

 

Best not to think on that now.

 

 

"- _Warlock?"_ A man's voice, rough, drawling. You could cry. " _Need some help?"_

 

"Yes, yes,  _please-"_ You cut off, can't spare the air to talk while you throw yourself forward.

 

" _Saving damsels? I'm in_." A woman, sultry, confident.

 

" _Hush, Taylor. She sounds scared."_ Another woman, older, relaxed.

 

A Titan goes flying by, landing with a loud  _thud_  and a burst of arc energy, frying the thralls grasping at your coattails. You twist, the void pulling itself from where your bone marrow should be, forming in your hands for an instant, before its too much to hold back.

 

Your rage, anger,  _grief_ , explodes against the remaining thralls and the knights shepherding them.

 

A bladedancer darts by, more lightning entering the fray, cloak flaring like a set of insect wings. You're aiming and firing by muscle memory alone, watching as the second Titan slams her fists to the ground, sending another wave of lighting into the Hive.

 

" _Let's clear out."_ The second Titan, the older woman, orders, voice distorted in the comms, pulling the other Striker and the bladedancer back. You follow her lead, grip too tight on your Multi-tool.

 

The retreat is slow, a Striker Titan in the lead and one following in the rear, you and the Hunter offering support whenever either is challenged.

 

It feels like a few days before you reach the surface, but it's only been two hours, your Ghost tells you quietly.

 

You stumble as you drop from the ledge, limp as you put distance between yourself and the mouth of Crota's Temple.

 

"Hey, hey! Ease up, darlin'. You're hurt kinda bad." The Titan's drawling voice is clearer now, you're hearing him directly instead of over the comms. He reaches for you, and the void explodes along your skin, warning him off.

 

"Roy, give her some space." The other Titan's voice is clear too, stern and sharp, and Roy nods, hefting his shotgun as he returns to guard the rear. "Pardon him, Warlock."

 

You wave her off. Or, you think you do. Your arms don't seem to be working.

 

For a dead thing, you're awfully light-headed.

 

"She's going to pass out, Yuma. We need to get her back to the Tower." The Hunter's voice is low, close, clear. The void licks at your bones, your organs, beating in time with your corpse-heart:  _don't touch me_.

 

The landscape's tilting, and for one horrible, devastating moment, you think you were too late. Then, you recognize the sensation, and pass out.

 

 

"Warlock." Pain, blistering, horrible heat. You bite your tongue, feel the sun flood your frame, chasing the void out from the hollows between your ribs, your knuckles, and back into your bones. You sit up with a sob, a gasp, and Ikora Rey steadies you. "Easy, Warlock."

 

The void is leashed by the sun, but it wouldn't have reacted anyway. It tastes its kin nestled in Ikora's body.

 

She too, knows death.

 

 

There are no sympathies offered, no platitudes. Just a firm grip on your shoulder, and a steady gaze. Your Ghost settles in your lap, whirring gently.

 

"He is coming." Your voice is raw, rough.

 

Ikora waits.

 

"Oryx. The Taken King." You whisper, remembering the wizards, the knights, the tormented figures of their kin, sacrificed to their god's will.

 

Ikora nods. "We knew it was a risk, after your team killed Crota."

 

You let your eyes close. "We aren't ready."

 

Ikora squeezes your shoulder once, then stands. "Then let's prepare."

 

"Hey, darlin'." Roy's voice is subdued, and you open your eyes to see an exo shuffle in as Ikora Rey leaves. 

 

"She's awake-?" Taylor, a human, the Hunter, asks, cutting off when she meets your gaze. She gives a low whistle. "You weren't kidding, Yuma. Prettiest Awoken I've seen."

 

Yuma, the other Titan, another human, punches Taylor on her way in. Taylor squawks, then darts behind Roy. 

 

"Forgive them." Yuma says, meeting your eyes. "We know your fire-team is dead."

 

"Yuma-!" Roy hisses, cutting off when the other Striker raises a hand. 

 

"Join us. We could use a Warlock." Yuma is calm, confident. 

 

"Fire-teams are three person." You say, tired down to your void-filled bones.

 

"Most are." Yuma agrees. She knocks her boot against the door twice. An Awoken Titan makes his way in, shadowed by a male Awoken Hunter.

 

"A raid." You say softly, and your Ghost twists under your fingers. You swallow roughly as you recall the way Marian's Ghost was crushed by a knight, the way Amita's was impaled on a wizard's talons.

 

"Kieren's the Hunter, Logan's the Titan." Yuma pauses, waits for you to nod. "You know what we face."

 

"I saw a  _shadow_ of what we face." You say, feeling the tension in the room build. "It killed my sisters, and it will kill us."

 

"So we give in?" Taylor's voice is quiet, soft. You still stiffen as though she had yelled.

 

"No. Better we die fighting." Your Ghost is humming, a lost, ancient tune, and you relax your grip on him, feel the void recede, the sun return.

 

You stand, pull on your mantle, reach for your Obsidian Mind. The others in the room give you space, and as you catch your reflection in the scratched face of your helmet, you don't blame them.

 

You're dead, but you've never looked so much like it.

 

 

"Let's do this." Your voice is rough, and you taste the memory of blood. You follow Yuma and her team out, and you wonder how many will run alongside you as you face Oryx. How many will make it back out.

 

You're the only Warlock. 

 

They think they know death.

 

You pull your helmet on. Feel the void in your veins. Death will be a tool, and when you've gotten your fill, you'll see what Marian and Amita have gotten up to.

**Author's Note:**

> I've put 9 days, 20 hours, and 58 minutes into my Warlock as of this posting. I have more than a few head-canons and stories for her by now. Meet me on PS4 if you'd like. I'm ArwenShepard on there.


End file.
